For Griffin and Gracyn, ages 4 and 8

I hear the first sobs,

but the wind carries them away now.

His head bends into his sister,

and they move—as one child—

toward the school.

It is enough that he leaves

his hat and heart in my hands.

But this!

This promise of return

flies, as it must,

a fierce flag in the space between us.

And his sister who takes him in,

whose hand in his, a small clutch of love,

promises what I cannot:

I am here,

I am right here.

Fifty yards away,

the edges of their silhouette cut me.

This is almost more than I can bear,

this surety that so much life goes on beyond me,

that they will enter the school

and not look back.